Aithne veers off the road into a secluded forest, away from any potential onlookers. Her battle attire is carefully donned, each piece of heavy fabric wrapping elegantly around her. She fastens her swordbelt, securely attaching her cherished shortsword, dagger, and a small leather satchel filled with crucial supplies and her wand to it. Her soldiers stand quietly, waiting for their commander's signal without a single peep.

As they wait, Avery's voice echoes from the distance, almost as faint as a whisper. "Raise the black flag! We show no mercy and will take your life without hesitation if you dare to attack us."

"Get ready to depart," Aithne declares.

The soldiers and men swiftly make preparations, with Aithne tying a scarf around her neck and pulling her hood up. Her clothes, normally tight and revealing, now conceal her figure. They are not meant to allure the gaze of men, but instead protect her from the upcoming battle. Her soldiers watch as she transforms into a formidable warrior, ready to face any challenge that comes her way.

Aithne and her forces march towards the outer gate with unwavering resolve, while ensuring they are as silent as possible. The soldiers left behind at the gate are complacent, more concerned with the wealth within the stronghold than guarding the walls from threats.

Alistair leads the attack, riding his horse straight to the wall, slowly standing on the horse as it approaches. When his horse draws near enough, Alistair jumps off and scales the wall. As he reaches the top, he encounters a singular soldier checking on the noise. The soldier leans over just enough to where Alistair is scaling and has the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Alistair snatches him by the neck and yanks him over. The body creates a loud thump as it hits the ground, alerting Alistair’s men to the area to barrage the poor soul with spear strikes.

Alistair's heart races as he climbs over the parapet and drops onto the other side of the wall. He scans the area, noting how the wall was free of Laszlo’s men. Alistair signals to his comrades below and a rope is thrown up to him. He secures it with a tight knot, letting the others scale up to him.

Once they reach the other side, Alistair and his team cautiously make their way to the gatehouse, their senses on high alert for any signs of danger. As they approach, they hear the sounds of men rummaging and ransacking the area, driven by greed and the desire for treasure. He signals for two of his trusted soldiers to follow him as they stealthily approach the entrance. After a count, the three men charge inside, weapons drawn, to clash with the surprised enemy soldiers.

Alistair's adrenaline fuels his parries and strikes as his body moves on pure instinct. He can feel his muscles strain with every movement, but he ignores the fatigue and focuses on the fight. Sweat drips down his brow, and his breaths come in ragged gasps as he tries to gain the upper hand.

The enemy soldiers put up a valiant fight, but they are no match for Alistair and his men's superior combat skills. Alistair lands the final blow, and strides to the gate, unlocking it and pushing it open with a loud creaking sound.

Waiting for him on the other side was Aithne, who enters through the now open gate. Her commanding presence immediately asserts itself as she surveys the scene. She calls out orders, directing her troops to reinforce the gate with carriages from the outside to make it impenetrable from within. The soldiers work diligently to carry out her instructions, determined to keep any invaders inside the walls.

With the fortifications in place, Aithne's leadership becomes even more apparent as she orders her troops to take up strategic defensive positions. With a sense of urgency and purpose, her soldiers rush to the tops of the walls, quickly erecting makeshift barriers to secure their position. Despite the apparent vulnerability of the inner wall, Aithne ensures that her troops remain vigilant, maintaining a sharp watch to counter any potential threats from within. Aithne surveys the scene with a satisfied gaze. Pleased with the diligent efforts of her troops to ensure their protection, her focus shifts from defense to offense.

"Alistair," Aithne says, "take your finest men at arms and ride to the enemy's backline. Wreck them! Take out each and every one of their priests and casters. Then, we shall begin the parade."

With a sharp nod, Alistair gathers his soldiers and a few other skilled fighters. They mount their horses and prepare to ride to battle, eager to end this all definitively.

“Hold!” Aithne calls out, stopping Alistair just as he braces to leave.

He turns to face her, and she picks up an enemy color, holding it out to him as a token of good luck.

Alistair takes the flag without any qualms, giving Aithne a sense of reassurance. "Excellent idea, my lady," he says, before riding off with his soldiers.

After watching them leave, Aithne waits patiently, biding her time by browsing the surrounding area. As she gleans over some items left by Laszlo’s cronies on a storage shelf, a bell rings out in the distance. She strains to listen for any further cues.

"Their army is fully assaulting the estate walls, good," she remarks to herself with a glimmer of hope. "Now, we wait for Alistair.”

~

Alistair and his troops spot Laszlo’s rear guard in the horizon. As he gathers what intel he can, a sense of anticipation and nervous energy pulses through the air. The thundering hooves of their steeds beat rhythmically as they gallop at full speed, ready to engage in the imminent battle. As they approach, Alistair hoists the flag of Lazlo's household high into the air, fully unashamed to do so- for this is war, and he will not be deterred to use every means available to win.

A few soldiers' ears perk up at the sound of horse hooves, and they turn to investigate. However, just as planned, they remain unalarmed as they recognize the familiar colors of their own army.

Yet, one healer takes note and desperately cries out, warning of the approaching attackers. His pleas for caution fall on deaf ears, drowned out by the raucous clamor of battle.

Alistair and his men flank the backline, their eyes fixed on their target - the healers. With precision and ruthless efficiency, they strike them down, only allowing one healer to escape the carnage. As they complete their mission, Alistair and his men fall back, finding the perfect moment to give their signal and regroup with the rest of the army.

~

Aithne stands tall and unwavering at the edge of the towering wall, her eyes fixed firmly on the expansive skyline as she waits with bated breath for the signal that will set everything in motion. The weight of her meticulously planned scheme presses down on her shoulders, and the anxiety bubbling up within her threatens to overwhelm her senses. But she refuses to give in to fear or doubt, knowing that this moment will make or break everything she has worked for.

The vivid hues of the horizon catch her attention once more, and she feels a flutter of worry, but not for long. A deafening boom shatters the stillness, and Aithne's gaze darts upward to witness a spectacular burst of orange and red sparks exploding in the sky, followed by a fierce crackling. She raises her wand high into the air, her heart now pounding with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

A smile creeps onto her face as she incants, "Echo.”

“Begin the black parade," she says, her words resounding across the castle walls and beyond, spreading like a ripple through the air in all of Rosttir.

~

Clyde deftly reloads the boomstick for Leonadis, his ears ringing from the constant barrage of gunfire. Yet, as his gaze follows Leonidas’' to the horizon, he hears the unmistakable crackling of fireworks, distinct from the booming blasts of their own weapons. And as the final sparks fizzle out, a voice carried on the wind echoes through the castle walls. It's Aithne's voice.

“Begin the black parade.”

Hayden wastes no time, his potion at the ready as he bellows out to open the gate and launch the attack. Downing the brew in one swift gulp, he snatches up another, preparing himself for the healing he will do.

Meanwhile, Clyde watches as the heavy iron gate of the castle slowly creaks open, revealing the perilous path that his comrades must take.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Garson is the first to charge through the gate. He charges forward like an unstoppable force of nature. As he barrels into the enemy ranks with ruthless power, they're sent sprawling in his wake. Every muscle in his body tenses with the strain of the battle, his ferocity unmatched.

The other soldiers follow in Garson's wake, their faces etched with grim tenacity to fight and die without fear or mercy. Their swords flash in the dim light as they surge forward like a tidal wave, carving their way through the enemy forces.

~

Maverick, still a bit annoyed at missing his opportunity to kill Leonadis, stands before Lazlo with a smirk on his face.

"You lost,” he taunts. “Prepare for your utter and total defeat."

"No, we haven't, Maverick!" Lazlo says, his face turning pink as he refuses to back down.

Maverick removes his hood and leather mask, revealing his face. "I'm nullifying my contract and taking my leave. You grossly underestimated Aithne," he declares, before turning to take his leave.

Lazlo's rage boils over. One of his men kneels before him as a sign of respect while he screams for Maverick to come back like a toddler in a tantrum.

"Uh, sir, there are more soldiers in the walls than expected…” the soldier reports. “And they are doing a front line assault. Also, our backline has been flanked, and we don't have healers. Some of the soldiers have started to retreat..."

Lazlo grits his teeth in frustration, knowing that this turn of events could spell disaster for their forces.

Lazlo, signals for his personal guard. “We are leaving; let's go.”

“Go back, tell them to fight,” he huffs to the messenger. “That should buy us plenty of time.”

Lazlo's guard hustles him into the waiting carriage speedily. As they make their retreat toward the outgate, Lazlo settles comfortably into his seat, snacking on cheese as if the loss of life were meaningless to him. He chews thoughtfully as his mind turns to the cost of this endeavor, his frustration continuously mounting at the thought of the thousands of gold wasted for nothing.

Suddenly, the carriage comes to a stop, jolting Lazlo out of his thoughts. He yells out furiously from inside his carriage, demanding to know what's going on.

But to his surprise, no one replies to him.

As Lazlo steps out of the carriage to investigate, his eyes widen in horror. The carriage drivers are burnt to a crisp, their bodies unrecognizable. And standing in front of the carriage, petting the horses with a calm and collected demeanor, is Aithne herself.

Lazlo feels a chill run down his spine as he realizes the magnitude of what he's up against.

Lazlo's voice booms out as he yells for his guards, desperately seeking aid while backing away from Aithne. He scours the area frantically with his eyes, looking for any sign of his men. As his back reaches the rear of the carriage, he turns to see soldiers approach, their swords stained crimson. Sadly for him, they were not his own.

The sight of the soldiers and their bloody swords sends a wave of dread through Lazlo, which he tries to push back by displaying anger instead.

"YOU AREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!" he spits out.

But it's too late. Lazlo's escort has been completely destroyed, and he knows that he's in deep trouble. He grits his teeth, trying to come up with a plan to escape, but it's no use. He realizes that he's been outmaneuvered by his enemies.

Defeated and helpless, Lazlo is taken into custody, his fate now in the hands of his enemies. He can only hope that he'll find a way to escape and regain his power, but for now, he knows that he's at the mercy of those who he sought war upon.

~

From the safety of the castle wall, Clyde watches as the front line of his allies fights hard, slowly but surely turning the tide of the battle in their favor.

Alistair returns with his men to lead them in a double envelopment. From his vantage point on the wall, Clyde watches as Alistair's men move with precise formations to pincer the soldiers from either end.

It's almost like watching a border collie herd sheep. Their goal seems to be not to kill the enemies but to herd them.

In the front lines, Garson is a force to be reckoned with. Clyde switches his gaze over to him as he strikes down multiple men, hitting them in the back without mercy as they flee. The sound of clashing swords and battle cries fill the air. Yet amidst the chaos, Clyde can see the order in the movements of his allies.

Leonidas continues firing his gun from the wall like an army turret. He takes brief pauses in between to reload his weapon, since the girls couldn’t keep up. As he fires, he can feel the weight of the gun in his hand and the heat of the barrel against his skin, but he does not falter. His eyes remain fixed on the now retreating enemy. The sound of gunfire echoes across the battlefield, mixing with the cacophony of the battle below.

As the soldiers retreat out of range, Leonidas finally stops firing and puts his back against the parapet to sit. Avery, exhausted from the fight, sits next to him.

He glances at Avery and offers her a canteen of water.

"Thanks," she says, taking a sip and handing it back.

Leondias nods, taking a swig for himself before setting the canteen down.

Mia and Catherine sit near his other side, covered in soot and also exhausted from reloading hundreds of times for Leonidas. He passes the water to them, and they drink from it gratefully. Once all had time to catch their breath, Avery begins an incantation.

"With a whisper and a gentle hand, I call forth the magic from this land. Retrieve the orbs that have lost their might, and return them to their former light. By my will, and rule of magic's flow, I reclaim what's mine, I reclaim what's owed. So be it, and so it shall be, bring forth the balls, return them to me."

With that, every ball that she threw during the siege comes back to her, dropping between her legs. She places them in her bags, organizing them in dividers.

"That's amazing!" Clyde exclaims.

"It's just a standard spell that every mage uses,” Avery replies.

"Can I see one of your spell balls?" Clyde asks, reaching his hand out eagerly.

Avery nods and reaches into her bag, pulling out a wooden ball to hand to him.

Clyde examines the ball closely, looking at the intricate grain. "Why are the balls made out of wood?"

"The balls have to be carved out of natural material,” Avery explains. “This one is for fireball, and it's carved out of Padauk."

Clyde nods. "I see. So, what about the species of wood? Does it matter?"

"No, any wood can be used, but you have to make it the correct color during creation to show the attribute it's going to be. Some mages use dyes to make all their balls consistent, but the cheaper method is to use different types of wood, which is typically done in academia."

"You're certainly curious about things, aren't you Clyde? “ Leonidas interjects with a grin.

~

Garson and the other men drive back the attackers, his relentless assault pushing them further and further back. The front lines and flanking cavalry launch a relentless barrage. Laszlo’s remaining forces were being devoured from all sides, causing them to flee in the only available direction, which was toward the outer gate. Upon crashing into it, they realize immediately that the gate is reinforced and unbudging. Panic sets in as they cry out in fear, shoving and trampling over each other in a futile attempt to escape.

Aithne's army surrounds the enemy, now reduced to only 100 after heavy casualties. Outnumbered 3 to 1, and backed into a corner, one of the opposing commanders cries out.

"We surrender!"

Aithne commands her troops to halt, bellowing at the invaders to drop their weapons. Despite resistance from some, most comply and convince those still clinging to their arms to lay them down.

Aithne orders Alistair and some of her soldiers to search the town for any of Laszlo’s men, capturing them if they surrender or killing them if they resist.

~

The walls were silent as the defenders were resting. Hayden bursts out of the great hall, his entire body quivers with sickly tremors. With a powerful bellow, he announces to his comrades that they have emerged victorious from the battle and have successfully captured the enemy. The excitement in his voice is palpable, as he relishes the sweet taste of triumph.

Taking a deep breath, Hayden reaches into his pocket and pulls out a vial, the liquid inside glowing with a brilliant hue. He raises it to his lips and knocks it back, resulting in more body trembles.

Hayden's eyes dart around frantically, searching for his next task. He spots Clyde in the wall and beckons him over, urgently instructing him to check on Aithne at the curtain wall. Though Clyde attempts to ask if everything is alright, Hayden's focus is singular - on the well-being of his fellow soldiers.

As Clyde departs, he steals a glance at Hayden's face and is struck by the weariness etched across his features: his eyes are completely bloodshot, his once lively gaze now sunken and hollow. Dozens of potion bottles are scattered about, and they clink together as Clyde walks through them. It's clear that Hayden has done everything in his power to keep himself and his team going- no matter the cost.

With a burst of speed, Clyde dashes out of the estate, his heart pounding in his chest. The path ahead is strewn with the lifeless bodies of the defeated invaders, a gruesome reminder of the intense battle that had just taken place. He keeps his eyes focused ahead to avoid the scene, and covers his nose to block out the overwhelming smell of blood, bodily expulsions, and gunpowder, which assaulted his nostrils so much it made his head spin.

But as he rushes past the corpses, something catches his eye. He can't help but notice that there are no signs of his own side's colors among the dead; it's as though the enemy had been caught completely off-guard.

Slightly up ahead, a ghastly-looking man came into view, his cheeks stained with streaks of tears. He held a small child gingerly in his arms, her blonde hair waving limply in the wind. He runs straight toward the estate from town.

“HAYDEN!!” He cries out, sobbing and struggling to navigate through the bloody battlefield.

Clyde catches a glimpse of the girl’s bloody dress.

He wants to help, but he pushes the thought aside to follow Hayden’s command. As he drew closer to the gate, the girl left his mind, and his attention was drawn to the sound of panicked screams echoing through the air. With each step, the cries grow louder, until he finally reaches the gate.

Clyde's heart sinks as he takes in the scene.